Sweetest in the Gale
by holyllama
Summary: -I don't think I'm a hero, no matter what the rest of Neverwinter says. But... I'm a Harborman, you know? Too stubborn to do anything but survive.- The life and times of Elyssia Kendrick, Harborman and Hero.
1. Fair and Foul

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own Neverwinter Nights 2 or the Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting. Those belong to Obsidian et al and Wizards of the Coast._

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Sweetest in the Gale

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Fair and Foul

* * *

There were a few things that Wyl Mossfeld was absolutely certain of. The sun rose in the east, West Harbor was a muck-filled hole (someday, he and his brothers had sworn every year, they'd make their way to Neverwinter and their fortunes there, like Lorne and Cormick had), and he and his brothers were the best fighters in the little swamp town.

Though, he thought as he watched the Lannons and the Misfits pound on each other with the flimsy little clubs Merring had provided, Starling wasn't too far behind them. A good fighter, he'd give Starling that. But - and there was a smirk pulling at his lips that he had to cover with a hand to make sure Merring didn't start in on him - Starling was too easily distracted. You'd think he would've learned with his brother's match against Cormick years ago, but Starling's head was about as thick as the layers of peat moss around the edge of town.

Rose Lannon swung her club down in an overhand strike that would've gotten a lecture from Georg, missing Amie Fern by a mile as the little blonde danced back. Webb whooped from beside him, and Wyl rubbed at his ear and shot a look at his brother. Fine, so Webb fancied the old wizard's apprentice. He didn't have to scream it to the Realms in his bloody ear, thanks. Webb offered an apologetic little smile, ducking his head sheepishly. Wyl just rolled his eyes and went back to watching the match. Fern was pretty enough, he supposed, but she was a tomboy who didn't even notice men half the time - too interested in magic, but that was probably because she lived with that cranky old bat, Tarmas. Besides, she followed Starling and Elly Kendrick around like some kind of blood-fly, and that got old. Quick.

Elly…ah, there she was. Ducking under Randal's attempted strike to her shoulder, replying to that with several quicker strikes that she'd probably picked up from whoever had taught her to fight. Or that could've been from observation - he'd swear to seeing her up a tree, quill and parchment in hand, watching during militia drills.

Rose went down, Randal bowed out, and Starling was trotting back over to Merring with an arm around each girl. There was a moment of green-eyed envy, and Wyl turned his back with a loud snort. They'd get Merring to heal them up, maybe they'd go around to the rest of the events - Wyl was going to stay far away from the archery competition, thanks; Elly's foster father scared him on some level he didn't want to think about - but eventually they'd come back for the inevitable. Wyl and his brothers were the only team left in contention besides them, after all, and if they didn't show by the end of the day then Wyl was going to hunt them down himself. No way he was going to let their fair chance at a fourth straight year as Brawl champs go because Elly, Starling, and Fern chickened out.

Ward grunted and nudged him, and Wyl looked up to see Elly's pretty blue eyes looking back at him. While a goofy grin may have been West Harbor standard around Elly from men their age, he smothered it behind a smirk and lazy drawl. "Well, brothers, look what we've got here. The wizard's pet 'prentice, our _friend_ from the militia, and Cormick the Second."

Elly rolled her eyes, but Starling and Fern were spitting like wet cats. "Stow it, Mossfeld," Fern said. "You're not smart enough to be funny."

"Sharp little tongue the orphan brat has, don't she?" Wyl said with a smile that felt like more of a snarl on his face. "'Course, seems it's usually spent licking Starling and Kendrick's backsides. It's always been just too bad that those demons didn't burn you up with your parents, isn't it?"

That, on half a moment's reflection and the way Elly was standing, was a bad thing to say. Wyl Mossfeld was not the sort to be intimidated by any woman other than his mother and _maybe_ Retta Starling. On a bad day. But Elyssia Kendrick was coming pretty close. "Lay off, Wyl, she never did anything to you."

"That one? 'Course not, a good stiff wind would knock her over."

Elly smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes. "Only if it came from _your_ backside."

There was a quick flame of heat in his cheeks. Partly from the insult - not too bad, but not one of her better selections - partly because of Starling and Fern not even bothering to smother their laughter, and partly -

"Shut up, Webb!"

His brother bit down on his lips and started examining the clouds, though Wyl was sure he'd dropped a wink back at Fern.

"You ready?"

Wyl adjusted his grip on the club. "What say we sweeten the deal a bit? A wager, ten gold."

"We can't do that," Starling squawked, "Brother Merring said no bets."

"I'm sorry, Mossfeld," Elly's voice was still that sugar-sweet, "but I don't think I trust you to pay up."

He caught her eyes with his, let the smallest hint of a smile slip through before he shrugged. "Fine. Let's settle this in the ring."

* * *

Wyl dropped the tankard of Harvest Mead in front of Elly, smiling at the way she almost pounced at it. Reminded him of a cat sometimes - it was a wonder she didn't worship Sharess instead of Lliira. "Don't see why you couldn't go get your own," he said as he plopped down next to her.

The tip of a dainty pink tongue ran over her upper lip, wiping away the last vestiges of foam that the mead had left behind. "You remember last year?"

"Right, Fern's performance on top of the Starling loft. Still like your voice better."

"Amie sings like a drunk hog even when she's sober. I'll take that as a compliment, though. Lazlo won't let any of the three of us near the stuff this year - not from _his_ hands, don't worry."

"Manipulative little sneak."

"You like me anyway."

Wyl rolled his eyes, but smiled slightly and took one of her hands in his. "Gods know why."

Elly just laughed, then stood up and tugged him into the crowd of dancers.

* * *

Hells, hells, _hells_.

And the day had started so nicely, too.

Wyl pressed his hand against the hole in his side, wincing at the pressure and leaning heavily against one of the fence posts where the Heftiest Hog had been judged earlier that day. He could just see Lewy Jons's corpse out of the corner of his eye (that runt of a pig was still at his side) even though his vision was starting to go a little black around the edges and spotty at times, even though he was trying his damnedest not to look.

"Lyssi! Over here!"

Starling?

Yeah, that was Starling bending down over him with a roll of bandages, and that was Elly and Fern sprinting over behind him. Funny how he hadn't realized Fern could run that fast in a dress.

"Wyl? Wyl, let me move your hand."

Had he been pressing down that hard? And she looked so worried - he didn't want her to look worried, he wanted her to smile, she was always so pretty when she smiled. He opened his mouth to tell Elly that, but what came out was his worries about Ward.

"We found him earlier," Elly said softly. "Healed him, too. He's back in the fighting."

"'S good," Wyl said. "Means well, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. We know. I've got some herbs from Brother Merring - they should help."

"M'kay…" Then he was wincing and hissing in pain, Starling's arms like iron bars against his shoulders as Elly packed what kind of looked like moss into the gut wound he'd gotten from one of the little gray dwarves. But…after the first pain of packing the moss in, he felt…better. "Starling, lemme up. Where's Georg?"

Starling moved his arm, even held out a hand to help Wyl lever himself to his feet. "The wheat field - we're rounding up as many of the militia as we can."

"Got it. I'll meet you there." He would've turned to go in that next instant, but Elly had grabbed his collar and pulled him down into most searing kiss she'd ever laid on him.

"Be careful," she whispered, her breath ghosting over his lips in a way that gave him some fuel for some very naughty dreams if they lived through this.

"You too."

She let him go with a cheeky smile and an "aren't I always?" kind of wink, long legs eating up ground to Fern and Starling.

He didn't waste time watching her leave, just headed for the Starling's wheat field as fast as his legs could take him.

* * *

The next time he saw Elly for more than a blood-streaked second was when she and Starling came out of the swamp, both of them covered in dried green and red streaks of blood and talking to Elly's father. Well, more accurate was that Starling was practically snarling at Elly's father while the elf looked like some kind of statue and Elly looked ready to just fall over. Didn't surprise him - his da had told him often enough that dealing with Daeghun Farlong tried anybody's nerves, and he knew for a hard fact that he'd seen Fern, still as she'd never been, in the morass of dead Harbormen.

Starling stormed away from the Farlongs, running out of steam not too far away from where he was standing around being fairly useless. Merring had ordered him out of the way what felt like hours ago, and Georg looked like he was still trying to get everything into his head. Hells, _Wyl_ was still trying to get everything into his head.

Well, if Wyl was useless on his own and Starling didn't look like he'd be much use at the moment, might as well be useless together. Maybe he'd find out what was going on and if that damned rumor…

"Wyl, what do you want?"

He shrugged, crossed his arms over his chest, and jerked his chin in the direction of Daeghun and Elly. "What's going on over there?"

Starling snorted. "Daeghun… He ordered us off into the old ruins to get something for him. Don't ask me what, I don't think I can say without him or Lyssi killing me."

"The old ruins? Aren't those -"

"Full of lizard men? Swamp beetles, too."

"Sweet Chauntea… Just you and Elly? Is the elf mad?"

"I don't know. Not even Lyssi gets him, and he's her dad."

"Hells… You were just with her, right? Maybe you know."

"Know _what_, Wyl?"

"I heard someone say that Elly's bound for Neverwinter. Tomorrow at the latest. That true?"

"_WHAT?_"

Both Wyl and Starling flinched at the shriek, and Wyl wondered again why Elly wasn't adorning some festhall somewhere; she even screeched like a cat. "I think," Starling said, "she just found out. Hey, Wyl... You two are kind of sweet on each other, aren't you?"

Wyl spared a look at Starling. "Kind of?"

"Answer the question, would you?"

"…I'm gonna ask her to marry me, Midsummer next. But if she's been sent off to Neverwinter…"

"Not going to happen. I get it. I'd congratulate you, otherwise."

Wyl's head whipped around so quickly he thought he heard something in his neck crack. One corner of Starling's mouth twitched up, and he shrugged.

"Don't let it go to your head, Mossfeld; I'd congratulate anyone who could pin her down. Besides, aren't you guys always saying you're going to go up to Neverwinter with Galen's caravan one of these years?"

"Not until after this is cleared up and rebuilt."

"Right."

They stood in silence for a few minutes, Starling watching the ground, Wyl watching Elly flit around between people and the ever-growing leather satchel bumping against her hip. "Hey. Wyl."

"Yeah?"

"You know the best way out to the road is down past the field, right? The old gate?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, if you want to make sure Elly leaves with a send-off to remember, maybe you might want to hang around there for a while."

"I might. I might _not_ go easy on you in practice."

"Yeah, right. Orlen's hogs'll fly first, no potions or spells."

* * *

"I hoped I'd see you before I left."

A shrug. "Starling said you might be passing through this way."

"Bevil. Told you. You two _are_ feeling well, aren't you? No big hits to the head earlier?"

"Ha. Ha."

"I'm glad, though…that you're here."

"I can't let my girl go off to the big city without saying goodbye, can I?"

"'Your girl' would've gotten her father to hunt you down if you did."

He shuddered. "Manipulative little sneak."

"You like me anyway."

"I _love_ you anyway." He pulled a ring out of his pocket, dull copper and reflecting the faintest traces of moonlight and firefly light and the wear on it marking it as a good few years old. "I was planning to give this to you on Midsummer. Ask you then."

One hand went up over her mouth, big blue eyes grew to the size of dinner plates and started to gloss over in a way that meant tears might follow. "You," she finally said around a watery laugh, "have really lousy timing."

He shrugged again, took the hand that wasn't covering her mouth in his. "Not like any of us planned for everything to go to the Abyss. Or…"

"Yeah."

"Wear it? So you don't forget."

The hand dropped to one of the belts around her waist, and her smile was still a little shaky. "Wyl, I couldn't forget you or the Harbor if I tried. I'll never get the smell of peat out of my hair, either."

She let him slide the ring on her finger, though, and she leaned up to kiss him. It was so different from the last time they thought they'd never see each other again. That was adrenaline and fire and passion. This is softer. Gentle and sweet and very much "goodbye" as much as they didn't want it to be. "I'll," her breath caught in her throat for a moment before she cleared it, "I'll come back. As soon as I can."

"Or I'll see you in Neverwinter. With my brothers."

"The Sunken Flagon. In the Docks."

"Right."

They stood in the circle of each other's arms for a long moment, her silent tears soaking his shirt and his nose buried in her hair, memorizing the scent of her one more time. But it came to an end all too soon, and he watched her walk away into the swamp.

And he wondered if that would really be the last time he saw Elly.


	2. Rocks in the Road

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own Neverwinter Nights 2 or the Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting. Those belong to Obsidian et al and Wizards of the Coast. Yes, the conversation in the latter half of the chapter is taken near-verbatim from the game - it says _so much_ about Khelgar, no?_

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Sweetest in the Gale

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Rocks in the Road

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Lyssi smiled another brittle-feeling smile at yet another patron of the Weeping Willow who'd requested a song. The arrangement she'd made with Jorik, the innkeeper, was an arrangement as old as time itself - singing for one's supper saved valuable gold - but that still didn't mean she didn't want a break after a good two hours straight of songs, dances, and stories.

Thankfully, it wasn't that much longer before the crowd in the common room began trickling back up the stairs to their rooms. She thought she'd seen a flash of Galen's bright wardrobe, but that was probably just her eyes playing tricks on her; the man liked to talk, yes, but he was probably a good day and a half ahead of her, at least. Finally, there were only about four or five of them left downstairs, including Jorik, herself, and the shield dwarf that she'd seen ducking outside earlier with three thugs that hadn't come back in with the dwarf. A brawl, she thought absently, fingers coaxing a melancholy tune from her lute. She'd bet her extra strings on it.

"Here, lass." The stew smelled heavenly, and Lyssi couldn't help but flash a bright smile up at the innkeeper as she set her lute aside and plucked up a spoon. "You've earned your keep tonight, that's for certain."

"Thank you." She dug in eagerly, having felt her stomach wrapping in bows around her spine over an hour ago. "This is delicious."

Jorik tilted his head a little, rolling his eyes and walking back to the bar when the dwarf called for more ale. Lyssi looked over at the dwarf, wondering how many tankards he'd had. At least five, she thought, but that really wasn't her concern.

The sound of splintering wood was a bit more of a concern, though, especially when it was followed by a nasally hissing voice. "The Kalach-Cha! Find it!"

The dwarf turned around, and Lyssi could see his eyes go a little wider before a positively evil grin blossomed within his beard and he reached for the wicked-looking axe next to his stool.

And when the wave of bladelings and duergar cleared the little entry hall, Lyssi found herself leaping over the table even as her stomach plummeted through the floorboards.

* * *

Lyssi still wasn't entirely sure how she'd ended up trotting away from the Weeping Willow with the shield dwarf, who'd introduced himself, after the brawl, as Khelgar Ironfist.

Well, that might not have been _entirely_ true. He'd introduced himself, commented on her mediocre skill with her blades ("Those flimsy little knives," he'd called them, then suggested she find something sturdier to swing. Like an axe.), and asked what had brought her out to the Willow. He'd sort of invited himself with her to Neverwinter after that; she'd gladly accepted because, really, he made a _very _valid point - two was safer than one, and a heck of a lot less boring. Granted, she would rather have "suffered" through this with Wyl, Bevil, or Amie - and thinking about her lover or her late friend sent sharp pangs straight through Lyssi's heart - but the dwarf wasn't too bad so far.

She was _still_ deathly curious about how, exactly, a _dwarf_ came to the realization that he wanted to be a _monk_, of all things, but she held her tongue and listened avidly to stories of some of the places he'd been as they'd made their way along the wide trail through the Mere that had the audacity to call itself a road. Mostly stories of bars. With epic-sounding brawls. But at least she was getting an education in Dwarven out of it, even if she did have to put up with Khelgar's commentary about how "flimsy" her sword and dagger were every time they had to draw weapons. Lyssi, highly annoyed with it by the time they'd crossed out of the Mere near Fort Locke, had finally snapped at him. The comment involved testing the "flimsiness" - was that a word? She thought it might be. - of her blades when they were rammed up a particular Dwarven orifice. Pointy sides first.

It amazed her, and probably would continue to do so, that Khelgar had just laughed and given her a lesson on how to properly swear in Dwarven. And Lyssi had to admit, it was a good language to swear in, all hard consonants and one of those languages that sounded angry even when one wasn't.

"Come on, Khelgar," she said when they'd stopped to rest after helping Galen with that pair of treacherous bodyguards, "please? I'm curious. Why does a dwarf want to be a monk?"

That started him off on a long and involved story about a fortuitous bar brawl with some "skinny robed humans" (Lyssi thought they sounded like those Sun Soul monks Brother Merring had hosted a few times), including a unique turn of phrase that she'd just _had_ to jot down. It wasn't very often that the phrase "sailing like a drunk hippogriff" came into play, after all, much less when defenestration was involved.

"Can you imagine?" the dwarf said. Lyssi rather thought he sounded like a heroine in one of those two-copper romance novels Amie had liked so much. It was _disturbing_. "Lifetime devotion to brawling. It's their lives, their _craft_."

"So," she said slowly, one hand lifted to cover a smirk, "they _were _monks."

"They're monks, aye. Crazy water-drinking fools. Hmph. Hope drinking water isn't what makes them fight like that. Anyway, that life sounded like destiny to me. I mean, those skinny humans were good, and they spent their whole lives kicking the hell out of others. Training for it. That's when I knew _that's_ what I wanted to do with my life. My purpose was clear."

Oh…oh gods, she was going to break something trying not to laugh… "I-I don't think," a slight snorting giggle slipped out, "kicking the hells out of others is the point of a monastic order…"

How did he not notice her sniggering? "Of course it is - well, as far as I could tell once my head stopped ringing."

"It's more," she had to pause to clear her throat, "it's more a state of mind and body." If what she remembered from Brother Merring was right, at least.

"You mean like head-butting someone? I already know how to do that, though sometimes I need to grab them by the beard or collar and yank their head down so I can hit it properly."

Sweet Lliira, the dwarf _couldn't_ be that dense…could he? "It's not about violence, Khelgar."

"Oh, is _that_ so? Well, I must have missed that part while they were wiping down the tavern _with my face_ and _throwing me through a window_. Hmph… Shows how much you know about it. _You_ didn't see them in action!"

Well, on the bright side, at least Lyssi had gotten a chance to perfect her impersonation of a catfish. One who was about to crack a rib from holding in her hilarity, but she felt the involuntary gaping she was involved in looked very catfish-y at the moment.

"…Never mind," she finally said. "Khelgar, would you excuse me? I'm just going to…over there…"

They probably heard her laughing in West Harbor.


	3. Heads or Tails

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own Neverwinter Nights 2 or the Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting. Those belong to Obsidian et al and Wizards of the Coast._

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Sweetest in the Gale

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Heads or Tails

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Neeshka stormed behind the others, trying her hardest to keep from either repeatedly smacking her head against one of the way too many trees or from indulging the niggling and always-angry little voice that screamed for her to plant her dagger just below the back of the dwarf's bald head.

She'd _tried_ playing nice. She'd _tried_ being civil. But then the stupid runt had to go and accuse her of trying to lull him into some false sense of security. As if the loudmouth had anything she'd _want_ to steal. _Stupid dwarf_, she thought as she glared at Khelgar's back. Like she told Lyss, one of these days his tongue was going to run right out of his mouth. And if it rolled out in Neverwinter, well, he'd be lucky if someone just stepped on it. A monk, hah.

"Neesh?"

The tiefling's head jerked up, and she couldn't help the reflexive surge of heat in her cheeks when she noticed that Elanee and Lyss were staring at her. Hells, hells, hells, had she said that out loud? "Nothing! Nothing at all, everything's fine…heh heh…"

Lyss's eyes narrowed a little, but the half-elf finally lifted a shoulder a little and said, "If you say so," before turning back to whatever the druidess wanted to talk to her about.

That was close. Last thing she wanted was for anyone to think she was nuts on top of being a tiefling; that was enough of a pain. The "rescue operation" at that bandit camp back near Fort Locke was a prime example. The jerk didn't even _look_ at Neeshka when he was thanking Lyss and the dwarf.

But…it was nice that Lyss had thanked her. And, really, Lyss was the _only_ reason Neeshka was even thinking about sticking the tip of a horn back in Neverwinter right now. No matter what the bard said, Neeshka owed her, and not just for helping her out with those creeps near the fort what seemed like weeks ago. The fact was that Neeshka owed her just for being so _nice_. Neeshka could usually put people's reactions to her in two categories: "Gyah! Tiefling! Kill it!" or "Ooh, tiefling! How can I use this?" Not the brand new third category ("Tiefling? So?") that seemed to be populated solely by Elanee and Lyss. Elanee could be written off there. The elf didn't look like she'd ever seen anything resembling civilization before they'd hit Highcliff, of course she wouldn't know about tieflings. But Lyss had flat-out admitted to being a bard and, as all bards pretty much _had_ to be, a bit of a gossip. There was no way in any of the Hells that she didn't know why people didn't like tieflings.

"Neeshka, hurry up!"

"Bah. I still say we should just leave it behind."

"I heard that, dwarf!" Neeshka could think about the whys and hows of Lyss's "nice" later. Right now, she had a dwarf to pound.

* * *

Really, Lyssi thought as she stared out at the horizon, it was like trying to make a group of belligerent kids play "Follow the Leader" sometimes. Khelgar and Neeshka wouldn't stop picking at each other, Elanee sometimes joined one side or the other but usually stayed fairly well oblivious in general… It was going to give her a headache one of these days.

Khelgar ran past her, hell-bent for the side of the Double Eagle with a hand clapped over his mouth, and Lyssi let herself groan. "One of these days" was looking more like "today" all the time.

"Whatcha up to?"

Lyssi smiled slightly at the tiefling, the corner of her eye fixed on the cat-like swishing of Neeshka's tail. "Contemplating how best to fix a feed bag to serve as a vomit-catcher for a certain acquaintance of ours. I think Captain Flinn's getting tired of tripping over him all the time."

Neeshka snickered. "Good idea."

"What brings you over here, Neesh?"

"A tiefling can't just wander over to talk anymore?"

"I didn't mean it like that…"

"_Fine_, fine. I was just curious, y'know? You asked about me, but you never say anything about you, so…"

"Ah."

"So?"

"Neeshka, I don't even know where you want me to start."

The tiefling scrunched her face into an odd expression, folding herself into an exaggerated "thinking pose." "Ooh, I know. Who was that guy you were so chatty with back in Highcliff? The one in the inn. Is he the one who gave you that ring?"

"You're horrible, you know that?"

"Thank you! Now spill."

Lyssi groaned and thumped her head against the ship's side. "No, that wasn't Wyl. And it's not some sort of sordid affair, either!"

"I didn't say anything." Was it horrible that Lyssi could practically see the "innocent face" the tiefling was wearing without actually seeing it? "So?"

"So Tylan was my teacher when I was a kid, taught me almost everything I know. Except for the wilderness survival, that was all my father's doing."

"What's he like?"

"Who?"

"Your father, y'know?"

Lyssi opened and closed her mouth a few times, possible responses dying on her lips before she finally just shrugged. "Daeghun's…Daeghun _is_. You'd have to meet him to know what I mean, but I can't think of any way to actually describe him besides that."

"Some bard you are." There was a grin on Neeshka's face, though, which flattened Lyssi's proverbial hackles before they could even think about rising. "So what is he, human?"

"Wood elf. _Speaking_ of, what's your opinion on Elanee?"

"…She's an elf? Little too 'nature-girl' for my taste, but I'm a city kinda girl, y'know? But she didn't run screaming when she saw me, so that's always good."

Both women winced at the sound of Khelgar's last meal jumping ship, punctuated by a spate of language that might've set nearby vegetation on fire had there been any nearby vegetation.

"Excuse me, Neesh," Lyssi said after a moment, heaving herself off of the side of the ship, "but I think I'm going to go find that feed bag now."


	4. Family Matters

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Sweetest in the Gale

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Family Matters

* * *

Duncan Farlong thought he could be pretty well forgiven for not recognizing Esmerelle's little girl when she'd walked into his inn. Elyssia wasn't exactly "little," for one, and she had an uncanny resemblance to her mother that had him wondering exactly how much he'd had to drink that night. He hadn't had any at that point, but that was _beside_ the point; dead women did not waltz into Neverwintan inns, especially not with the kind of ragtag group that followed her.

So it might have been a bit of an inconvenience to have to go fetch the hedge-wizard about those shards - and he still couldn't believe that _Daeghun_, of all the people in Faerûn, had made Elyssia dig that thing up - but insulting Sand was always fun, and the elf gave as good as he got. He'd admit to being a bit annoyed when the wizard had bent over her hand like some besotted nobleman, even though he knew it was just another of those "fair weather charms" and even though Elyssia had grinned and flashed her left hand at the moon elf, age-worn copper standing in stark warmth against her fair and slightly blue-tinged skin. He was still her uncle, after all, even if it wasn't by blood.

They didn't get a good chance to talk, uncle to niece, until after Bishop had slunk off and the rest of the regulars had gone and Elyssia had chivvied the dwarf, tiefling, and wood elf off to their rooms - at least the one she traveled with was a hell of a lot more sociable than his brother.

"I can't thank you enough for letting us board here," Elyssia said, rolling her tankard between her hands.

"No trouble, lass," he drew his own tankard, plopped down across the table, and took a deep pull. "You're family. Though your friends'll be paying rent."

She laughed. "Until they decide that they want to go their own ways, I'm sort of holding the collective purse strings. Majority vote after Khelgar drank his own body weight in ale and came close to tearing up one of the taverns in Highcliff. It's like traveling with children some days."

"And have I got any little grand-nieces or -nephews running around back in the Harbor?"

"Hm?"

"The ring, lass."

"Oh! No, it's not official yet, and no kids, either. Not," she muttered, "that it would've stopped Father in the first place."

"There's a lot about Daeghun that I don't think anyone living could understand," Duncan said slowly. " Gods know your mother and his wife had a hard enough time of it."

"He was _married_?" Elyssia said, choking a little on the ale she'd just sipped. "Daeghun Farlong, my foster father and your half-brother, found a woman who'd put up with his moods?"

"He wasn't always that bad, you know."

"I _don't_ know."

Hells, and now she was wearing that stubborn expression that was thoroughly her mother's. Esmerelle had been bad enough when it came to any hint of gossip, and she'd only been a wizard; Elyssia was a bard, which meant she had a nose for the stuff - going by past experience - and it didn't help that he'd stupidly brought up things that Daeghun Did Not Want Her To Know.

He grumbled a little, and sent a pointed look towards the ring. "So tell me what 'not official' means, then. Who's the young man?"

A perfect distraction. Elyssia shot a fond look down at the thing, her cheeks going pink. "Wyl…"

"I didn't hear a last name, lass."

"Mossfeld. We grew up together. In West Harbor. He and his brothers used to tease us horribly when we were kids."

Duncan couldn't help the wide grin he felt growing on his face. "Pulled your pigtails, eh?"

"Something like that."

"Hm. He treats you well?"

"You and Father would be making do with what's left if he didn't."

The grin grew even more. "Good lass."

The conversation meandered for a while after that, news of the Harbor and Highcliff and the weird little _things_ that had come after her shard. The more he heard, the more Duncan wanted to rip his brother the proverbial new hole. A sweet little girl like Lyssi should _not_ be risking life and limb chasing ghost stories, not when Daeghun had two working legs. She should be home raising kids and snuggling in front of a fireplace with her young man, not trying to supervise a bunch of overgrown two-year-olds.

But when he said that, she just smiled.

"Uncle, if I didn't do it, who would?"

And that made it official: Daeghun was a dead elf walking.


	5. Blacklake, the First

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own Neverwinter Nights 2 or the Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting. Those belong to Obsidian et al and Wizards of the Coast._

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Sweetest in the Gale

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Blacklake, the First

* * *

"I think I'm going to snap fairly soon." She wasn't even looking at Cormick when she said it, instead picking at a blotch of drying paint on her uncle's bar. You couldn't even tell there had been a scorch mark on the ceiling, except for some of the random paint drops over the rest of the Flagon.

The larger Harborman just snorted. "Pigs'll fly on their own first, you know that as well as I do. Just give it a little longer."

"Cormick. It's been three months, almost four, and I don't feel like I'm any closer to getting into Blacklake than when I started working for the Watch."

"Aye, but think of all the good you've done for the Docks. And the Waterdhavian ambassador, to boot."

Lyssi barked out a humorless laugh, one hand drifting to cover the most recently healed sign of _that_ lovely little trip. "And what a hellish round of happy-fun-time that was."

"Least you got a paladin from it."

She shot him the most withering look she could muster. "More like at least I got Grobnar from it, you mean."

Cormick looked like he was trying to hide a smile. "What, you're not fond of Tyrran paladins?"

Lyssi turned to face him and started counting off points on her fingers. "One: Casavir is the most stubborn, protocol-laden stick in the mud that ever lived, probably gives my father a damned good run for his money there. Two: I'm spoken for, so stop that eyebrow-twitching - yes, _that_ twitching, Cormick. And, last but certainly not least, three: the sooner I get to see Aldanon, the sooner I can go home and start planning my wedding - you're invited, of course, since I doubt Wyl will have any objection to that."

Cormick shook his head at that, taking another pull from his ale. "Still can't believe you ended up with one of the Mossfeld brats."

"They're not that bad anymore."

"Your dad know about the engagement?"

"I haven't told him, and I haven't been sent bits and pieces of my fiancé yet, so…probably not. I'll tell him the next time I'm back home, hopefully soon."

"Hm. Any thought to if you'll stay in the Harbor?"

"I'm…not sure. Wyl and his brothers have been talking about making their way up here for years, and I like it here, too, so… Well, there's things to do before that, aren't there?"

"Nothing I tell Brelaina will make her make up her mind any quicker and you know it."

Lyssi shrugged, laughed. "A girl can at least try, can't she?"

* * *

"Ah, Lieutenant, your timing is perfect. There's a Luskan ship, the Sea Ghost, that is planning on making port. I want it turned away."

* * *

"The Nine have asked the Watch to clear out a den of suspected assassins. I want you to carry this out, and return when it is finished."

* * *

"Oh, come on, Elyssia. It can't have been that bad."

"…She sent us into the midst of a nest of githyanki, Cormick. Right after the Sea Ghost debacle. Were I a lesser woman, her name would be first on The List."

"Tell me you don't actually have 'A List,' lass."

"Do you _really_ want to know?"

"…I'm not going to ask, just for the sake of my sanity."

"Smart man."

* * *

Somehow, Lyssi thought absently as she fingered the slip of parchment, she'd expected more than "Here, thanks, be good _or else_" when Brelaina finally softened up enough to give her the Blacklake pass. Not that she wasn't grateful, mind; it was just rather…anticlimactic.

"I've got yer 'anticlimactic,'" Khelgar had muttered when she had mentioned it in front of him and Neeshka. "Lass, we deserve the damned thing. Don't go lookin' a gift horse in the mouth."

"Yeah," Neeshka had said, not even seeming to notice that she was, wonder of wonders, actually _agreeing_ with Khelgar. "I mean, a challenge might be fun - I love a challenge just as much as the next girl, let me tell you - but stuff like _this_ is supposed to be easy, y'know?"

Lyssi had rolled her eyes and agreed - under duress. But there was still a nagging little feeling somewhere between her spine, brain, and gut that said something was going to go _wrong_. It was becoming a trend since she'd left West Harbor, so Lyssi felt perfectly justified in her paranoia.

But she was _going_ to think positive, even if it killed her. So while the guards at the gate into Blacklake hemmed and hawed over her pass and the chore of opening the heavy gate and getting some random Watchman to chivvy her around to Aldanon's and back, she was making wedding plans. With a vengeance. So much so that Neeshka had to poke her to get her to notice that their "guide" was waiting.

She muttered a quick thanks, and followed along.

* * *

Aldanon was, in all senses of the word, _unique_. Sweet old guy, fanatical about his research from the looks of things, but Neeshka had the sense that the guy wasn't all there. Had some nice stuff just sitting around, though.

"Down, Neesh," Lyss said quietly, the corners of her lips twitching. "No stealing from the nice sage."

Neeshka stuck her tongue out. "Spoilsport. Is His Holiness rubbing off on you or something?"

"Neesh! Ugh! Even if he wasn't something like twice my age, there is no way in any of the Hells I'd even think about it."

"That's just because of your swamp sweetie."

"Even if I wasn't spoken for, I wouldn't even think about it - he's a _bore_."

"He is, isn't he?"

Lyss gave her a look that said, "You think?" as clearly as if her friend had shouted it from the rafters.

"So what about that other guy who's around the Flagon all the time? The one that tried to make a pass at you before Duncan went to 'Scary Uncle?'"

"Rude, crude, and smells like a dog that's been drenched in cheap ale. Do you know how many times I've been tempted to make sure he can't ever reproduce?"

"He can't be worse than Leldon, y'know? He's kinda cute, too, in that rugged-nature-man kind of way."

"If you want, him, he's all yours, Neesh."

"Ah, good, you're still here!" Neeshka and Lyss stood as Aldanon practically skipped back into the sitting room.

"Did you find anything out? About what the shards are?"

"Oh my, yes. They're pieces of a githyani Silver Sword…"


	6. The Trouble with Gith

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Neverwinter Nights 2 or the Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting. Those belong to Obsidian et al and Wizards of the Coast._

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**Sweetest in the Gale**

_The Trouble with Gith_

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It had been incredibly easy to talk their escort into taking them to the Archives. A few honeyed words, a sweet smile and paired innocent expressions, and the young man had been blushing and stammering that, well, maybe it would be okay after all - it was just a short side trip, right?

Lyssi should've known it was too easy.

And she really should've expected the githyanki ambush, in hindsight. They'd fouled up every other portion of her life so far, why should this be any different? And of course, going with her luck, they'd already gotten to the books that held the information she was looking for on the Jerro family and Ammon Jerro's Haven, most of the book crumpled and torn and singed by the time the last remaining gith was summarily decapitated and/or disemboweled. The only (mostly) unmarked page was a family tree, dates of birth and death carefully inked under each name but one at the very bottom of the page: one Shandra Jerro.

"Shandra?" Neeshka said. "Isn't that the girl in Highcliff? With the flammable barn?"

Lyssi was too busy creating new and inventive phrases to answer right away, some that Khelgar and her uncle would have either been proud of or taken soap to her mouth for. "Either way," she finally said, "we've got to get everyone together and go after them."

"Ya think?!"

* * *

It took longer than Lyssi would've liked to get to Highcliff, the only reason they weren't triple-timing it down the Sword Coast on foot or horseback being that Captain Flinn was headed in the same direction, himself, and had just enough room on the Double Eagle. With the stipulation that Khelgar stayed below deck with his feed bag.

The problem with traveling by boat, Lyssi quickly remembered after they'd cast off, was that there was nearly nothing to do but think and attempt to hide from overzealous and preachy paladins who wanted to talk about nothing but Old Owl Well or scold her for her close association with a tiefling thief for the umpty-first time. Grobnar had been a godsend there. "Bardic business" was the quickest way to chase off anyone who might even think about intruding into the conversation, as it seemed that Lyssi was the only one who didn't seem to find the gnome at the same level of "tolerable" as a toothache. She liked the little guy.

Unfortunately, the chances to avoid Casavir only lasted until the last morning before they docked at Highcliff, when Lyssi was forced to gather her companions for a small briefing.

"The plan," she said when everyone was gathered and Khelgar's stomach at least slightly settled, "is fairly simple. Shandra Jerro's farm is less than a mile out of Highcliff proper. We don't know if the gith have made off with her yet, or if they've even managed to locate her - though somehow I doubt that they haven't. We go in, look around, make sure Shandra's alive and well if nothing else and, if the gith haven't shown up, set up watch on the farm and ambush _them_ for a change. If the gith are there, well," she smirked, "we'll do what Khelgar does best."

Qara rolled her eyes. "Lose our lunches?"

Lyssi shot the sorceress a dark look. "I was thinking more along the lines of removing the gith from the mortal coil. And _no fire spells_! I'm not sure we'll get an entirely friendly reception from her to begin with, and we _do NOT_ need to make things worse."

"Killjoy."

"I try."

* * *

A warm reception, Qara couldn't help thinking, was the _last_ thing that Prissy-Lyssi should've worried about. Oh, sure, the farm girl was wailing away about her poor house and her poor barn. But as much of a pain in the rump as the githyanki were turning into, she had to admire the fireworks.

Nothing as good as hers, of course, but there was an artistry to pyrotechnics, something that the rest of the powerless peons around her just didn't seem to get. But they'd get theirs someday, right? Of course.

"Fine!" The farm girl certainly didn't sound thrilled. Not that Qara was much thrilled to be dealing with such mundane trifles, herself. "What now, then? Tell me you at least have _somewhere_ safe?"

"My uncle's tavern," Prissy said. "The Sunken Flagon, in Neverwinter; you'll be safe there."

"_Neverwinter!_ The only safe place you can _think_ of is in _Neverwinter_?"

Qara was slightly confused, herself. Prissy thought that place was _safe_? That wood caught fire far too easily to be perfectly "safe."

She didn't catch what Prissy said, but whatever it was had the farm girl slumping and letting out a huge and forlorn sigh. "Fine. Lead on."

* * *

Now, the sorceress couldn't help thinking as the last of the raiding gith disappeared through the portal or crisped into ash on the Flagon's floor, would "I told you so" be an appropriate sentiment for their fearless leader?


End file.
